


The Fear of Falling Apart

by littlesnowpea



Series: until your breathing stops [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, in all the stories Patrick’s Mage had told him about love (and there were a lot; how to fake it, how to force it, how to falsely create it), she never mentioned what to do when it really happens. And even if she had, Patrick doubts very much she would have explained what to do when the person you’ve fallen for is a vampire.</p><p>She definitely never said what to do when being in love hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fear of Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> this is the prequel to don't be afraid (you're already dead). i wrote it primarily to serve as a backstory for patrick and to explore the peterick more.
> 
> even though it is a prequel, it's meant to be read after don't be afraid.
> 
> there is one scene in here that could be read as a parallel to rape/non-con. it's a situation that can be compared to rape. just a potential trigger warning!
> 
> title from 'this is gospel' by panic! at the disco.

The thing is, in all the stories Patrick’s Mage had told him about love (and there were a lot; how to fake it, how to force it, how to falsely create it), she never mentioned what to do when it really happens. And even if she had, Patrick doubts very much she would have explained what to do when the person you’ve fallen for is a vampire.

She definitely never said what to do when being in love _hurts._

Patrick isn’t stupid. He’s not. He’d graduated the Academy and started postgrad work when he realized that they were trying to train him to _hate_ people, and he left. He knows what he’s doing and he knows he’s good. It’s probably the only reason Pete’s let him hang around so long. It’s not like the other two vampires in Pete’s measly clan give a shit. 

Patrick’s strong and Patrick’s good at magic, but Patrick’s really not good at being in love with someone who doesn’t (won’t) love him back. He’s not good at dealing with this at all, especially when he’s certain Pete’s not incapable of loving him, he just refuses to. That’s the part that hurts the worst. 

He wonders why he’s even still here sometimes, but he remembers everyone he’d met before Pete, he remembers the violence, the hatred against those that were turned, and he knows here is the only place he can do something to help. 

He’s not selfish enough to put his own feelings above trying to help stop the senseless murders that happen every single day, egged on by the hate group quickly gaining popularity. 

Before Pete, Patrick sheltered the turned as best he could, slipping them to others that could get them away. Others he had to trust to keep them safe. At least here, Pete can make sure the ones that help the turned escape are legitimate, and it’s the biggest relief Patrick’s ever felt.

He can’t have another Hayley, can’t take watching her sweet seven year old face twist in confusion as Patrick hands her to an alpha who swears he’ll get her out. He can’t endure one more case like that, when he found out the alpha he’d handed the child to (a human seven year old, the youngest he’d ever seen bitten) was later appointed a leader in the Sangsue.

It destroyed him. He can’t do that again. 

Those are really the only reason he’s still here, because if the world wasn’t a nightmare, Patrick would have been long gone, far away to patch his heart up in peace, instead of ripping it open again and again because he can’t turn off the feelings that are _killing_ him. It’s honestly killing him and it’s all he can do to wake up most nights (nights, because everyone else is a vampire, of course.)

But, despite all this, Patrick is a fucking adult. He is a grown man, even at twenty, and he can _deal_ with things. He has to. He compartmentalizes and locks it away so he can do his part, so he can help those that need it. He doesn’t let this interfere. He doesn’t.

Which is why being grabbed and tazered by two vampires comes out of nowhere. He immediately begins struggling despite the waves of pain and his magic seizing up, but it’s no use. These are vampires experienced with magics, and they have his hands tied behind his back faster than he can out maneuver them, leaving him powerless.

He spits at them and the tallest one laughs before yanking his head back and breathing against the skin of his neck.

“I imagine you have an aversion to getting your throat ripped out,” he purrs, so fucking smug, and Patrick snorts.

“Not really,” he deadpans, and the vampire scowls and pulls his hair, hard.

“It’s a bad time for jokes, we might just take you seriously,” he snaps. “So I’m going to cut to the chase. Where do you take the turned you’ve been stealing from us?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Patrick lies through his teeth. He sees the light glint off the vampires bared teeth and he knows what’s coming a split second before it happens. He tries to brace himself, but it does no good because the second the vampire sinks his teeth into Patrick’s neck, all pretense of bravery leaves immediately.

Patrick grits his teeth so hard he’s afraid he cracked one in an effort to muffle the scream when the venom hits his bloodstream, but he can’t control that and himself. He screws his eyes shut, but tears slip free and down his face regardless, and he hears the vampires laugh through what feels like a thick fog. 

It hurts. Jesus fucking Christ, it _hurts._ It’s like liquid mercury flowing through his veins carefully and thoroughly, the excruciating agony moving through him slowly but surely. 

“Gonna play nice, now?” the vampire asks sweetly and Patrick cracks his eyes open to glare at him, chest heaving. 

“Go to hell,” he snaps instead, and there’s a bite to the opposite shoulder before he can process it, another vampire laughing as the pain starts up again. 

He thinks this is what it feels like to burn alive, to burn like humans did to magics hundreds of years ago, and a barely audible plea slips from his lips. 

It’s audible to the vampires, though, and they laugh again, loud and taunting.

Patrick swallows hard and catches a glimpse of the moon, a sliver behind the trees. He shudders as the venom finishes coursing through him and sends a short prayer to a goddess he hardly believes in anymore before the vampire wrenches his head back.

“This is getting boring,” he warns. “So let’s try again. Where. Do you take. The ferals?”

“Where do you put your conscience before you go out torturing and murdering everyone you see?” Patrick retorts, and the vampire bares his fangs, hissing. 

“I don’t put it anywhere,” he snarls. “It comes with me, cheering me on as I save the world from disgusting _garbage._ "

“Go fuck yourself,” Patrick spits out and knowing what’s coming doesn’t help in the slightest, especially when both vampires sink their teeth into him.

Double the dose is still not enough to turn or kill him, but it is a hundred times worse than a single dose. Patrick’s legs buckle and the vampires drop him to the ground as he gasps and pants against the pain, twitching and fighting against nothing. 

By the time the venom begins circulating within his heart, he can’t help it anymore. He screams, honest to god screams, and his muscles freeze up fighting the venom. 

Logically, he knows this won’t kill him, but logic isn’t very convincing in the face of this agony. He screams again, choked off by a sob he isn’t proud of, and one of the vampires kicks him onto his back and puts one foot on his chest, forcing Patrick to look up at him. 

“I tried to be nice,” the vampire says, all faux-sympathy. “I tried to give you a chance. We’ll find out eventually, you know.”

Patrick can’t respond, can’t speak, can’t even flinch as something cold hits his face and body.

“You didn’t have to die for nothing,” the other vampire finishes, and the acrid smell of gasoline hits Patrick’s nose even through the paralyzing pain. 

His brain is fighting between the pain and panic because gasoline means fire and fire means -

He closes his eyes as he hears the click of a lighter and hopes it’s fast, hopes it’s nothing like what his Mage described. 

The flame never comes. 

There’s a snarl, a furious, violent snarl, and a returning hiss. Patrick opens his eyes to see a shape, fuzzy because of the pain, throwing the vampire with the lighter nearly ten feet away before whirling on the second. 

Patrick tries to twist his wrists behind him, tries to pull himself free of the rope, gritting his teeth uselessly against the sobs that escape. It doesn’t work and the venom hits his lungs like a car crash. He gasps and chokes and tries to tell himself he can breathe, he can breathe, he can -

Suddenly, he can. Breath returns to him almost as fast as it had left and cool relief sweeps through him, chasing away the pain and leaving him shaking on the ground. 

Pete pulls his mouth away from where he’d bitten to give the sedating venom, and turns Patrick’s face towards him, looking into his eyes to find some recognition. 

“P-Pete?” Patrick tries, he tries but he can’t get his voice to work, can’t stop the trembling throughout his body from the combination of the venom and his magic reviving from the electric shock. He pulls uselessly again and Pete notices, reaching back and freeing Patrick’s hands with ease. 

Patrick swallows, hands shaking in Pete’s grip, and lets out a choked off whimper of relief. He turns his face away, willing the tears to leave, leave with the pain, but Pete turns his head back and wipes them away with one firm swipe of his thumbs. 

“Patrick,” he breathes, and Patrick’s never seen this look on Pete before, not in all the three years he’s known him. It’s desperate and almost terrified, and Patrick stares helplessly even as Pete glances up and down Patrick’s body for other injuries. 

His magic is slowly buzzing underneath his skin, coming back one nerve at a time, and Patrick feels Pete lick at his neck, his shoulder, to close the still-bleeding bites. He pulls Patrick’s shirt down to find the burn from the tazer and seals his mouth over that, too, replacing the mild pain with relief. 

“Pete?” Patrick whispers, and this time his voice does work, and it drags Pete’s attention back to Patrick’s face immediately. 

Patrick swallows.

“Pete, I - I’m -” he stutters, and Pete shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says brokenly, and kisses Patrick hard. 

It hits Patrick and his revived senses like a tsunami, washing over him with wave after wave, and he pushes back, kissing as good as he gets, determined to get everything he can out of it, even if it’s the only time.

Pete pulls away only to trail his mouth down Patrick’s neck, over the now-invisible marks left by the others before pressing his forehead to Patrick’s and inhaling deeply.

“I thought-” he chokes out before darting down to kiss Patrick again. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Pete-”

“I love you,” Pete kisses Patrick hard, cradling his face in his hands. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how you’ve done this to me but you have, and I love you.”

“Pete,” Patrick whispers, and pulls him close again. “Pete, I know.”

Pete lets out a half-broken sob and kisses Patrick like he needs it to live. 

Patrick holds on tight. 

\--

Despite fighting the sedation as best he can, Patrick falls asleep before Pete can get him off the ground. 

He wakes up later, about midday judging by the light shining through the thinner parts of the blanket they have pinned over the window. He’s in Pete’s bed, in the only bedroom - he and Pete sleep here, Ryan and Brent sleep in the living room of the shitty, dirty apartment. 

The place is quiet, near silent - all their immediate neighbors are vampires, too, and even if they weren’t, people tend to stay quiet as often as possible to avoid attention. 

He rolls over as carefully as he can, looking hesitantly at Pete’s sleeping form, his heart pounding suddenly. He has no idea what happened between the time they kissed and now, but for all he knows Pete could have decided it was a mistake. 

Had they fucked? Patrick’s skin doesn’t smell so strongly of gasoline anymore, so he got cleaned off somehow. 

It’s driving him crazy and he takes a deep breath, intending to slip off the bed carefully and go have his freakout in the hall, but Pete cracks an eye open.

“I’m awake,” is all he says, and Patrick never knew two words could hold so much meaning. He doesn’t move, but doesn’t reply, still hovering between relaxing into sleep and running the fuck away.

Pete rolls onto his side, eyes wide and dark and as serious as they always are. 

“It’d be shitty to decide you’ve changed your mind,” Pete points out when Patrick still doesn’t reply. “I mean, you’re more than entitled to, but it’d still be not a great feeling.”

“I haven’t,” Patrick says softly. Like that was even an option for him. He would have taken that a long time ago. 

“That’s good,” Pete replies, and his expression doesn’t change, but something in his voice does. 

Patrick swallows and slowly slides closer. Pete doesn’t move, lets him move closer than he ever has before, reaching out and resting a hesitant hand on Patrick’s hip. Patrick has to force himself to refrain from the shuddering gasp he wants to make at that, the full body reaction at that one small touch. 

It’s just … Pete doesn’t touch. He doesn’t. Patrick doesn’t know if it’s a leftover issue from his original clan falling apart, from being exposed to that trauma of the shattered clan, the violence that ruined it. It’s how Pete’s always been, drawn up and tight, avoiding physical interaction with anyone.

Patrick loses his train of thought right then and there as Pete’s hand cautiously slides _upupup_ Patrick’s side until his thumb barely brushes Patrick’s nipple.

Patrick _can’t_ stop the noise he makes at that, arching up and whining because Pete’s cold hand on Patrick’s magic-sensitive skin is like nothing he’s ever experienced in his many nights of fumbled bathroom sex at the Academy. It feels sharp, feels amazing, and Patrick wants _more more more_ , but he forces himself to keep from asking.

He doesn’t have to because as soon as Patrick reacts, Pete shudders like _he’s_ the one getting touched and splays his hand wide on Patrick’s chest. He swallows and looks up, back at Patrick’s face, and Patrick nods.

“Yes, Pete,” he whispers, and Pete groans, leaning over to mouth at Patrick’s jaw. “Yes, yes, oh god, _yes._ ”

Pete pushes and tugs at Patrick’s shirt until it’s off and rolls Patrick over, pins him underneath Pete. Patrick reaches out, hand shaking, and touches Pete’s chest (bare, because Pete wears next to nothing to bed) and whimpers a little when Pete rolls his hips at the contact. 

He wants. He just _wants._ But Pete seems content just torturing him, little touches that feel like fire, kisses that Patrick is drowning in, and all Patrick can do is moan quietly on every exhale. 

“How did I ever keep my hands off you,” Pete murmurs, raking his eyes over Patrick. Patrick swallows and cracks a grin.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “But maybe you should fix that from now on.”

Pete groans.

 _“Yes,”_ he says vehemently, and ducks down to kiss Patrick again. 

\--

Patrick’s never really _liked_ Ryan and Brent. Not really. He’s not sure why Pete lets them stay, other than that Ryan helps with rescues and doesn’t complain. Brent, on the other hand -

“Is it not enough that he puts us through having to touch ferals?” Brent’s voice is low but angry, and presumably he’s talking to Ryan. “Now we have to sit around and just accept that a place that _rightfully_ should belong to one of us is given to a fucking _burner?_ ”

“Don’t fucking say that.” To his credit, Ryan actually sounds irritated. “It was not a place that was “rightfully” either of ours. It’s a place given to whoever the Sire wants, and he wants to give it to Patrick. And don’t slur him like that.”

“What, you gonna suck up to them now that the clan is really forming?” Brent scoffs. “Don’t be a pushover. A burner is a burner, they never change. You should make your own plan to save your own ass when he decides he’s bored and sells us out for a fucking power or something.”

“You literally have no idea how anything works outside your little world,” Ryan snorts. “Patrick loves Pete. You can’t fake that.”

“And I suppose you’re about to tell me that a Sire is likely to “love” a burner?” Brent laughs. “Fat chance.”

“I’m telling you that Patrick loves Pete and Pete obviously loves Patrick, or else he wouldn’t have named him Viscount,” Ryan sighs. “I’m also telling you it’s _none_ of your business. If you don’t like it, you’re more than welcome to leave. Oh, wait. You can’t. Just like I can’t, because we’ll be _killed_ out there alone and the Sire you’re so cheerfully slandering is the only thing protecting you.”

“I’m allowed to express my displeasure,” Brent snaps.

“Of course you are,” Pete’s low voice makes Patrick jump in surprise from where he was hiding to listen in, and he swallows hard. “You’re entitled to whatever you’d like to think. You are not entitled to try and interfere with things that aren’t your business and you are most definitely not entitled to ever slur anyone like that again. Especially not Patrick.”

“Sire,” Brent begins and Patrick scowls. “With respect, I have reservations about you appointing a magic as Viscount.”

“I understand that,” Pete replies in a tone that suggests the exact opposite. “I also don’t care. Watch your mouth, because if I ever hear the word burner again, I’ll burn _you._ ”

Patrick can’t see, but based on the lack of retort, Brent has probably shut up. Patrick sighs and slips away, down the hall and into the bathroom like that’s where he’s been the entire time. 

\--

Pete comes quietly into the room late. The sun’s already risen, and Patrick can actually hear birds outside. It’s way later than Pete usually goes to bed.

Patrick pretends to be soundly asleep, breathing even and eyes closed, even as the rest of him is desperate to find out if Pete would even crawl in with him or if he’d take the mattress in the corner that Patrick used to sleep on. 

Pete lays a gentle hand on Patrick’s ribs.

“Patrick?” he whispers. Patrick shifts a little, but pretends not to wake. Pete hesitates, and the few seconds almost _kill_ Patrick until Pete moves. 

The bed dips slightly as Pete carefully sits down. He grunts, and tosses what must be his shirt onto the floor before easing himself down next to Patrick. 

There’s two seconds where Patrick’s not sure if Pete will stay or not, until Pete exhales and slides an arm around Patrick’s torso, pulling himself in close and tugging the blanket up over them. His nose brushes the back of Patrick’s neck as he settles in and Patrick slowly releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

One of Pete’s hands is splayed over Patrick’s heart, as if taking comfort in the steady rhythm. Patrick wants to roll over, wants to grab Pete’s face and kiss him with everything he’s got, wants to pour himself into Pete and finally know what it feels like to be loved instead of used for his magic, for what he can provide.

By some miracle he manages to not do that, deepening his breathing further and forcing himself into sleep.

Tomorrow will be another night, another night of rain and their leaky roof.

\--

Patrick wakes before Pete, early evening. It began raining sometime during the day, and it’s only grown stronger. He carefully slides out of bed, sparing a worried thought for their barely attached roof, and bypassing the wet patch of carpet where the rain is invading. 

It’s _freezing,_ and Patrick’s breath is almost visible. He wraps his arms around himself tight as he slowly picks his way down the hall, slipping into the kitchen silently and putting the coffee on almost on autopilot. 

He’s just turning their unreliable coffeepot on when a voice makes him jump and almost drop the pot.

“Viscount,” the word is polite enough, but the scorn in which it’s delivered makes it clear who the speaker is, even if Patrick didn’t already know.

“Hello, Brent,” he says as civilly as possible. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep very well,” Brent says with a sneer. “It’s raining, you see. And the roof leaks. Directly onto me.”

“That’s a problem everyone shares,” Patrick sighs. “The roof is not targeting you.”

“Well, I thought you’d be able to at least fix it,” Brent smirks. “What with your _powers_ and all, Viscount.”

Patrick sends Brent his best glare, cold and to the point.

“You know perfectly well that I patch it as often as I can,” he snaps. He’s not in the mood for this. “As I have said many times, the roof needs to be _replaced._ I can only fix with what’s available.”

“What do you suggest I do for sleeping?” Brent demands. Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“Find a new place to sleep,” he retorts. “As we all _frequently have to do._ ”

He pushes past Brent roughly, heading back down the hall towards the bedroom in a hope of dissuading Brent from following. Brent, however, seizes his arm hard enough to bruise and gives him a disgusted once over, complete with a dramatic sniff, ignoring his attempt to pull away.

“Well, that explains why Pete named _you_ Viscount,” he sneers. “You smell _just like him_. Sleeping with the Sire is a cheap trick to get what you want, _caster._ ”

“My private life is private and it is _none of your business_ ,” Patrick spits, trying to yank his arm back again. “Let me go or I’ll _make_ you. _Nightwalker._ ”

Patrick feels nails dig into his arm at the slur he’d thrown back and sighs.

“I warned you,” he says before sending a vicious magic shock down his arm, causing Brent to hiss and jerk away. Patrick brushes off his arm and glares again.

“Don’t touch me again,” he warns coldly, heading back to the bedroom. 

\--

He hesitates just outside the doorway, casting a glance down the hall to confirm Brent has left. His arm is already bruising, and he knows it’ll only look worse given fifteen minutes.

Patrick thinks that’s one of the shittiest things about magic. He has all the power he needs to heal others, but he can’t use that power on himself. 

Pete’s going to notice the bruise and he’s going to ask, and Patrick doesn’t want to start problems, he really doesn’t. He’s so tired. 

“Patrick?” 

Patrick starts and jerks his head up to meet Pete’s gaze. Shit. How long has he been hovering here?

“Pete,” he replies softly, not bothering to try and hide the emotion in his voice. It’s probably written all over his face anyway, even if Pete couldn’t sense it immediately. 

“What happened?” Pete asks immediately, just as Patrick knew he would. He doesn’t reply though, doesn’t move toward Pete or away from Pete, just stays still, stays quiet.

What’s he supposed to say, anyway? Brent was _mean?_

Not likely.

“Your arm is bruised,” Pete says flatly, suddenly right in front of Patrick. “And you’re angry. What happened?”

“A run in with Brent,” Patrick replies quickly, dismissively. “Please, Pete, don’t -”

“Don’t what?” Pete’s angry, Patrick’s learned how to tell-the flatness of his voice, his fangs extending. “Throw him out? I fucking should. He has no right to treat you like this.”

“He’s pissed because he thinks I stole his spot,” Patrick says. “That’s all. It’s me.”

“It is _not_ you,” Pete snaps. “It is not. It’s _him._ He’s spineless and arrogant and bigoted, he has no place here. I don’t trust him, Patrick. I don’t trust him to continue assisting us with saving the turned, I don’t trust him to stay away from the Sangsue, and I don’t trust him around you.”

“What could he possibly do to me other than try and insult me?” Patrick asks. “It’s not like I haven’t heard everything he has to say before. I’m younger than you but I’m not that young. I’ve been called everything they can think of, Pete. Burner, caster, floater, _witch_. Everything.”

“You’re my Viscount,” Pete interrupts. “You get _respect._ Period.”

“Pete, being here and not being outside, not being assaulted and _harvested_ , is respect enough,” Patrick sighs. “At least I’m not worried about being killed in the middle of the night for my power, which they can’t actually take.”

“You shouldn’t settle for good enough,” Pete says firmly. “You shouldn’t. You _deserve_ to be protected, lord knows how much you’ve done for that right, and there shouldn’t be a moment where you fear for your life when you’re with me. Not one moment. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a vampire. You don’t need to be a vampire to be my Viscount.”

“Pete,” Patrick protests, but Pete doesn’t listen.

“It doesn’t matter,” he insists. “It doesn’t. I know exactly how long you’ve been in love with me. I know because that’s how long I’ve been in love with you, even if I didn’t really know what to call it at first. You terrified me, Patrick. You terrified me because I could easily see myself becoming irrational if you were in danger. I could easily see myself giving up everything to keep you safe.”

“Pete, your clan -” Patrick begins uselessly.

“No,” Pete says simply. “No. My clan will defer to me. My clan will not fight me. A clan is a _unit_ , and if those two can’t be respectful of you, they are not my clan.”

Patrick stares determinedly at the wall, lip trembling, even as Pete carefully urges him to look back at him. 

“You are more important than anything,” Pete whispers. “You are my reason, Patrick, you are my strength. The clan only exists because of your dedication and I am only a Sire because you taught me. Birthright be damned, I would have never accepted the title if you hadn’t shown me all the good I could do using it.”

He kisses Patrick softly. 

“You’re my Viscount because I want you to be my Viscount,” Pete says simply. “You are my Viscount because you are the one I trust the most. Them saying that it’s a role belonging to a vampire over the one the Sire trusts most is as backwards as the belief that turned vampires have no self control.”

“ _Pete,_ ” Patrick whispers, and Pete kisses him again. “I love you.”

It’s not the first time Patrick has said the words, but it’s definitely the first time since Pete reciprocated, and the first time in a very long time. Pete drops his head to kiss Patrick’s neck and warmth fills Patrick as he remembers that this is a vampire display of love.

“I love you, too,” Pete whispers back. “I love you, Patrick, I love you so much.”

\--

In the end, it didn’t matter what Patrick did. The roof caved after the third straight week of rain, and they were forced to leave, shivering and hungry, chased out by the elements and the growing Sangsue presence that made Pete tense with worry.

They walk an entire night, out of Johnsburg and through the storm. It takes them almost until daybreak to find any place that has room for them and isn’t Sangsue controlled. Several wolves tracked them for a few hours, clearly waiting for the vampires to leave the slower magic behind, waiting for an opportunity to take Patrick. 

Pete’s bared fangs and low hissing eventually drove them off, though not before one decided to try his luck at snatching Patrick up despite the vampires surrounding him. Patrick managed to shock the wolf unconscious almost immediately - the good thing about the rain is that it makes tazers useless, giving Patrick a level playing field to defend himself - but not before the wolf got ahold of Patrick’s wrist, dislocating it at the very least.

It’s impossible to see in the darkness and the rain, so Patrick keeps it tucked close and Pete in turn keeps Patrick tucked close as they trudge on. 

It’s close to six in the morning by the time they crest over the highway to see a village in the distance. Patrick closes his eyes and exhales deeply. Each step since the attack sent waves of pain jarring down his arm, and he was just grateful that they _had_ to stop now, to avoid the sun. He would have kept going as long as they wanted because he’s far too stubborn to admit he needs help. 

Brent had done plenty of whining for him, anyway. 

“Finally, we can stop fucking walking,” Brent sighs dramatically, pushing past Patrick and Ryan with more force directed at Patrick than was necessary. Patrick bites his lip hard to avoid crying out in pain - they’d barely hung together to get out of Johnsburg and he wasn’t going to do anything to cause conflict if he could help it. No matter what Pete said. 

Ryan spoke up for him, anyway. 

“The fuck is your problem, asshole?” he spits, drawing up to his full (taller) height and glaring murderously at Brent. “You don’t take precedence, here. Watch where the fuck you’re going, and don’t fucking shove Patrick again.”

“ _Patrick’s_ fine,” Brent says dismissively, emphasis on Patrick’s name like he meant to say something else. “And I’m fucking tired, so I’m making a move to actually find someplace to stay, unlike you.”

“One more word and you’ll be stuck outside, trying to find shade,” Pete snaps darkly. “You’re pushing your boundaries, Brent. Shut the fuck up, for _once._ ”

“Patrick?”

The voice cuts through Brent’s haughty retort, and Patrick turns, eyes wide. The man who’d called raises an arm and moves toward them, causing Pete to step between them and glare.

“Pete, it’s ok,” Patrick whispers, then speaks up. “Andy?”

“ _Patrick,_ ” Andy breathes and reaches out to touch Patrick’s cheek, incredulity written all over his face. “I’ve been looking for you since - since we lost each other.”

“You got out,” Patrick says softly. “I knew you would.”

“Me?” Andy laughs. “I knew you would. You’re far too smart to be brainwashed by them, after all.”

Patrick smiles shakily. 

“Andy, this is Pete,” Patrick says, laying a hand on Pete’s arm, keeping the damaged wrist still. “And Pete’s clan. He’s been taking care of me.”

Pete shakes the hand Andy offers.

“Patrick’s been taking care of _me,_ ” Pete corrects, voice quiet. Andy grins, a little shaken. 

“I’m glad he’s been with someone,” Andy replies. “This is Joe.”

A human Patrick hadn’t noticed nods in greeting before stepping back again, casting wary eyes on Brent, who’s smirking. 

Patrick chooses to pretend Brent doesn’t exist. 

“We left, we had to leave Johnsburg,” Patrick tells Andy. “We lost the roof off the place we were staying and the Sangsue were taking over. We had to leave.”

“I’m glad you left when you did,” Andy replies, voice cracking. “Because the Sangsue burned Johnsburg to the ground a few hours ago, along with everyone who wouldn’t join up with them. Locked them all in a building and burned it, then the rest of the town. It has all of western Illinois terrified.”

“You’ve come almost sixty miles,” Joe speaks up. “This is Wilmette.”

“You’re welcome to stay with us,” Andy directs this at Pete before looking back to Patrick. “You’re always welcome.”

“Thank you,” Pete nods, turning his hand when Patrick gropes for it and linking their fingers together. “I appreciate it.”

Andy and Joe nod simultaneously. Andy opens his mouth to speak but freezes, frowning a little and slowly raising his hand next to Patrick’s face.

“Patrick,” Andy whispers. “You’re leaking magic, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Pete and Joe ask at the same time and Patrick tries to send Andy a warning look but it fails miserably as nausea overcomes him.

He _knows_ he’s leaking magic, he’s been leaking magic since he got hurt because even though he can’t heal himself, he doesn’t have the strength to keep his magic from trying anyway, causing it to leak since it can’t do anything to fix him. 

Patrick knows leaked magic is one of the most common causes of death for magics, but Pete doesn’t have to know that.

“He’s injured,” Andy says, eyes locked on Patrick. “And it’s causing a disturbance in his magic. It’s called leaking.”

“Patrick?” Pete demands, and Patrick glances over at him, trying to convey his deep displeasure.

It doesn’t work.

“I can fix it,” Andy assures quickly. “Come inside.”

Pete’s nodding before Patrick has a chance to say anything, but he can’t hold on to his anger as Pete wraps a careful arm around him. 

\--

“It’s broken,” Andy whispers, gently examining Patrick’s swollen wrist. “Badly. Patrick, you should have gotten help immediately.”

“I didn’t have a lot of choice,” Patrick ground out, teeth clenched together against the nausea that’s building the more his wrist gets handled. “We had to get somewhere, can you please just fix it?”

“Patrick, you’re pale,” Andy whispers. “I’m glad you’re here now, this is _draining_ your magic. You’re an idiot.”

“Andy, _please,_ ” Patrick’s voice cracks. “Just, please. I can’t.”

There’s a pause and Patrick doesn’t look up, eyes focused on his wrist, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Andy goes still. 

“They tried, didn’t they?” Andy asks quietly. “They tried to harvest from you.”

“Of course they did, Andy,” Patrick mutters. “They try and harvest everyone.”

“Doesn’t make it _right,_ ” Andy chokes out. “ _Patrick._ When did it happen?”

Patrick doesn’t answer. 

“Patrick.”

“Which one?” Patrick finally spits, ripping his eyes from his wrist to glare at Andy. “Which fucking time? The first time? It happened when I was sixteen. When I’d just ran away. I thought I was going to die in that disgusting apartment, held down by three wolves and another magic, laughing at me when I cried because it hurt so badly! They beat the shit out of me when it didn’t work. They probably would have kept going had it not been for a couple other wolves coming to investigate.”

Andy looks stricken and Patrick just wants to fucking collapse. He’s never said the words out loud before. Never. 

“I was more resigned the second time,” Patrick finishes, holding himself up, poised. “Although it still hurt more than anything in the world.”

“Patrick,” Andy says softly, gently covering Patrick’s swollen wrist with his hands. Patrick feels warmth begin to spread up his arm and he sighs a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Andy,” he replies, forcing himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “It happens to so many of us. You know it does.”

Andy grits his teeth.

“It was the worst part of being a mentor at the Academy,” he confesses. “Explaining what it was, watching littles grow confused, asking why, why does that happen so much? It broke my heart. I never learned how to explain that there are just superstitious assholes in the world willing to kill us to try and steal our magic. How do you tell a kid that?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says softly. “I don’t know that it makes a difference. I knew what was happening, and it didn’t make it any better.”

“It’s disgusting,” Andy whispers. “It’s a fucking _myth_ perpetuated by the _Sangsue._ Magic can’t be taken. It’s a myth to try and drive most of us to their side, to “protection”. They can’t stand to have anyone different.”

Patrick puts his head on the table and Andy gently squeezes his newly-healed wrist. 

“We’re going to get through this,” he says seriously. “We are. I believe it. One day there won’t be violence, there won’t be murder. The turned will be safe, we’ll be safe, the Sangsue will be gone. I know it.”

“I’m fighting for that,” Patrick replies, and looks up at Andy. “Every day.”

Andy smiles.

“I know,” he says simply. “I always knew you’d be fighting for something. You’ve got passion, Patrick. So much passion.”

Patrick laughs halfheartedly and Andy pinches him. 

“You’re healed up,” Andy says. “But you leaked a lot of magic. I want you to _sleep_ , and I don’t want to see your face again until I can’t feel any leaked magic, understand?”

“Yes,” Patrick sighs. “I imagine Pete’s right outside the door?”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet,” Andy laughs even as the grin slides right off Patrick’s face. “What?”

“He heard,” is all Patrick manages to get out before Pete’s voice interrupts him. 

“They did what?” Patrick can feel the unexpressed anger in Pete’s words, and it makes him want to flinch even though he knows it isn’t directed at him.

“If you heard, why are you asking?” Patrick’s voice cracks. He sees Andy slip away, out of the room and sighs. “Pete. It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s something,” Pete argues. “It’s something I didn’t know about.”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Patrick says simply, facing Pete and holding his head high. “It happens. It happens to us a lot.”

“It’s wrong,” Pete protests, like Patrick doesn’t know. “Patrick, that’s so wrong. Please, just -”

“It is wrong,” Patrick interrupts firmly. “But so is the mass murder of turned. One fight at a time.”

Pete stares at him until Patrick feels like crying.

“Excuse me,” Patrick manages as bravely as he can. “I need to sleep.”

He walks past Pete with his head held high and makes it completely out of sight before he lets the tears begin to fall.

\--

“Patrick?” Pete’s voice is quiet, serious, and loud in the silent room. Patrick considers pretending to be asleep, but he doubts Pete would believe it. 

“Yes?” he asks, resigned. There’s a pause before Patrick feels Pete press up behind him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close. Patrick bites his lip so hard he draws blood trying to keep the painful sobs back. 

“I’m sorry,” Pete whispers, lips pressed to Patrick’s ear. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It happened before you knew me,” Patrick protests, voice cracking. “You’ve kept me safe since then.”

“You should be safe always,” Pete says firmly. “That shouldn’t have happened, I’m so sorry.”

Patrick can’t help it, turns as quickly as he can and presses into Pete’s chest, shaking with the effort of keeping the sobs back. 

Pete tilts his head back and kisses him slowly, licking softly over Patrick’s lip to close the wound. 

“It’ll never happen again, Trick,” Pete tells him. “Ever.”

Patrick kisses him back with everything he’s got, all caution thrown to the wind. He shoves everything, absolutely everything, out of his mind except how he feels right now, and how much he wants Pete. 

And he _wants_ Pete, he’s always wanted Pete, wanted him even at his worst, even through the biting insults and the cold looks. Maybe Patrick’s a bit of a masochist, but he thought Pete would change. He _knew_ Pete would change.

He’s spent three years watching Pete change.

Patrick has never been wrong before and he isn’t about to start now. He strips off his shirt and shoves Pete onto his back, tugging off his pants in record time before straddling Pete and kissing him hard. 

Pete is far from passive, digging his nails into Patrick’s hips and giving back as good as he gets, nipping at Patrick’s lip and grinding up against Patrick. The rough material of his jeans against Patrick’s bare cock and skin makes him shudder and moan into Pete’s neck, gasping as Pete tugs at his hair and thrusts up again. 

“Fuck,” Patrick whimpers as Pete’s hands find their way to his ass, squeezing enthusiastically. Pete laughs, low and hot, and Patrick suddenly feels as awkward as he did during his first time, as quiet and reserved as he has fought hard not to be.

That is so not happening.

Patrick sinks his teeth into Pete’s neck, cutting the laughter short, and sucks hard, willing Pete’s dark skin to bruise, even if only for the short amount of time that vampires bruise. Pete swears, digging his fingers into Patrick’s hips almost unconsciously, and that’s ok.

That’s _good_ , if Patrick’s dick has a say in the matter, and apparently it does. He pulls away from Pete’s neck to groan and squirm as Pete’s hands tighten their hold. He tries to push his hips forward, seeking friction, but Pete won’t budge an inch, holding him tight and still.

“Sorry, did you want something?” Pete smirks, and Patrick tries to glare, he tries, but it come out as a little desperate instead, and his hips thrust forward helplessly. 

“Pete,” he moans, gasping into the kiss he gets for it. It’s Pete’s turn to leave a mark now, and he’s not playing games. 

“ _Please_ ,” Patrick tries again, biting back a desperate cry as Pete bites a little harder. He feels Pete’s tongue travel from his collarbone to his jaw and almost faster than Patrick can process, Pete flips them, pressing Patrick against the bed. His shirt is gone, followed by his pants, and Patrick is suddenly a little intimidated, staring up at Pete as he looks at Patrick with wide eyes. 

Patrick swallows, a blush staining his cheeks and spreading down his chest. Pete’s looking at him like he’s treasure and Patrick’s not used to that. He’s not. 

“God,” Pete whispers almost reverently, kissing Patrick softly. “ _God._ ”

It’s not eloquent or even expressive, but it hits Patrick hard, anyway. He strains up, kissing back and wrapping his legs around Pete’s hips. 

“Want you,” he gasps when he pulls away. “Please, c’mon, _please,_ I want you.”

“Yeah,” Pete mumbles, eyes dark. “Fuck, fuck, I don’t have any-”

Patrick almost wants to laugh, and if he wasn’t so unbearably turned on he would. Pete’s looking around frantically for something to use as lube when Patrick is _right here_ and is also _magic._

“Pete,” Patrick finally snorts. “ _Here._ ”

Pete’s fingers brush Patrick’s and come away wet and slick. Pete blinks for a moment before shaking it off _fast_ and pushing Patrick’s legs apart to slide his fingers in. Patrick’s head slams back and his back arches as he pushes back _desperately_ against Pete’s fingers. 

Pete groans, watching his fingers slide into Patrick almost greedily, and Patrick gasps for breath, voice breaking on a high pitched whine as Pete twists his fingers just right. 

“Now, Pete, now, right now, right the fuck _now,_ ” Patrick babbles desperately, clutching at the sheets and at every part of Pete he can reach. He’s ready, he’s so fucking ready.

Pete seems to agree, pulling his fingers out quickly and lining himself up before Patrick can beg more. He pushes in, groaning in tandem with Patrick, hands tangling with Patrick’s as he pauses for Patrick to breathe. 

“C’mon,” it’s barely audible, but Pete hears loud and clear and groans again, thrusting forward hard and shuddering at Patrick’s almost strangled cry. 

“Please,” Patrick whispers, and that one word seems to destroy Pete’s wariness. He pushes Patrick’s knees to his chest and just _fucks_ him, hard and fast and _everything_ Patrick had wanted. Everything Patrick _imagined_ for _three years,_ and he can’t help the choked sob he makes at that, pushing back as best he can and squeezing Pete’s hands in desperate encouragement. 

Patrick’s been so close that when he comes, it’s a total surprise. He accidentally clenches down hard and almost screams into Pete’s neck, shaking and gasping out soft moans as he comes back down again, whimpering as Pete shifts and sets his singing nerves off again. 

Pete kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his lips as breath returns and Patrick’s eyes flutter open again. Pete looks _wrecked,_ and as he moves to pull out, Patrick quickly shakes his head.

“No,” Patrick whispers. “You’re not done yet.”

Pete swears and tries to pull out again, but Patrick isn’t having it. He wants Pete to come. He wants to feel Pete come, and he squeezes Pete’s hands again, eyes locked with Pete’s. 

“Pete,” and that word, that single word is all it takes for Pete to push forward again, biting gently at Patrick’s neck as he gasps and writhes with the overstimulation. Patrick’s moans become increasingly more vocal despite his best attempts and on every sound Patrick makes, Pete shakes all over.

It only takes another minute before Pete tenses up and nips Patrick’s bottom lip as he comes, before almost collapsing on top of Patrick and kissing every inch of skin he can reach.

This time, when Pete moves to pull out, Patrick lets him, wincing a little at the sharp sting before curling close to Pete and sighing happily. 

Pete kisses him softly, and Patrick breathes.

\--

It’s dusk when Patrick wakes, magic snapping across his skin. He furrows his brow, staring at the ground but listening intently.

Something isn’t right.

A split second later, he hears it - shattering glass, faint but instantly recognizable. He flings his arm behind him and smacks Pete as hard as he can, still listening, letting his magic creep out despite his exhaustion, trying to use every ounce of clairvoyance he has.

It’s not much, but it’s enough, and Patrick comes back to Pete shaking him, concerned. He gasps for breath and pushes at Pete, trying to get him up and moving, trying to scramble up quickly.

“Patrick,” Pete hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “What the hell is happening? You look pale.”

“Sangsue,” Patrick manages. “The Sangsue are here, in Wilmette. We need to go, we need to go now!”

The words had barely left his mouth when the door swings open and Andy appears, Joe right behind him.

“Patrick,” he begins and Patrick nods wildly. 

“I know, I saw,” he says quickly. “We have to go, we have to get out of here.”

Pete throws Patrick’s cardigan at him and Patrick scrambles to pull it on, lacing up his boots with trembling fingers and struggling to remain calm. 

His magic is _sparking,_ and that never happens, that never happens unless there’s a real threat. Pete grabs his hand as they rush down the stairs and jerks a little at the jolt, but doesn’t let go, just holds on tight as they slip out the front door and down the street, casting fearful glances around.

“We have a van,” Joe whispers. “We should try and get to it. We’ll never get out of Wilmette on foot, not when the Sangsue are already here.”

Pete nods. 

“Anything to get us out,” he says, and Joe nods, glancing at Andy. 

“They’re not here for turned,” Ryan says suddenly. He’s facing the way they’ve walked from, inhaling deep. “Pete, they have tazers. _They’re not here for turned.”_

“Move,” Pete orders them all, hand grasped tightly to Patrick’s. “Let’s move. Keep Andy and Patrick in the middle.”

Ryan and Joe park themselves on either side, Joe pressed against Andy and Ryan shoulder to shoulder with Pete. Patrick swallows and links his arm with Andy’s, sharing a look that Patrick wishes he didn’t have to convey. 

“Brent,” Pete snarls. “You can cover the back with Ryan or you can leave. I am serious.”

Brent scowls, ugly and heated at Patrick before obediently moving behind them. Ryan pulls away from Pete and follows him, eyes locked on Brent’s every move. 

They all push forward, as quickly as possible, away from the magic hunters. 

\--

By the time they make it to the van, Andy and Patrick are pale and shaking. Patrick’s stomach is upside down, and he can only imagine how Andy’s is. 

They barely escaped detection three times, passing in such close proximity to some of the Sangsue that they could see the glow of tazers, and the smell of chloroform was heavy and pungent in the air. 

Patrick is terrified. 

He’s more terrified now than he was when he first approached Pete, a violent, hurting vampire with little self restraint. That had been scary, sure, but nothing compares to Patrick hearing other magics try and escape only to be stopped immediately, screaming as their magic seizes up with the electricity. It’s nothing like the fear he’s feeling right now as he _knows_ the Sangsue will try and harvest every magic that refuses to join. 

Even Brent looks horrified. 

“Here,” Joe whispers, pulling open the van’s door and practically pushing Andy inside, before following suit with Patrick. “C’mon, fast, let’s go.”

Patrick’s pressed against Andy on his left and Pete on his right, with Ryan behind them and Brent up front with Joe. His hand is sweaty against Pete’s, but he doesn’t want to pull away, doesn’t want to lose that contact.

He’s not sure that Pete would let him, even if he wanted to. He hasn’t relinquished his hold on Patrick since they left, squeezing every so often as if to reassure himself Patrick is still there. 

Andy’s head drops to Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick shifts so he’s resting against Pete’s ribcage, joined hands pressed to his heart. He presses his hand briefly to Andy’s forehead before releasing a shuddering sigh, squeezing back when Pete does. 

“Go to sleep,” Pete tells him. “Go to sleep, Patrick. I’m here. We’re ok.”

Patrick swallows hard and shuts his eyes as Joe floors it.

\--

“Brent,” Pete’s voice is absolutely frigid. “There is no chance in hell that your accusations are at all appropriate. It’s none of your business why Joe is with Andy.”

“I can smell why Joe is with Andy, thanks,” Brent says snidely, hissing as Ryan punches him from the driver’s seat. “Fucking douche.”

“Brent, it’s none of your business,” Pete spits. “Keep your mouth shut. You’re on shaky ground.”

Patrick slits his eyes to look for Andy, only to find that seat vacated. He closes his eyes again and concentrates, reaching out mentally until he connects with Andy’s energy and is appeased.

He retreats back into his own mind, leaving Andy and Joe sleeping in the back, and focuses on the conversation that’s been building for the past half hour. 

“Why am I the one on shaky ground?” Brent demands. “All I’ve been doing is pointing out weaknesses for the good of this clan!”

“There are four of us,” Ryan snaps. “Six, now. What weaknesses are you talking about? Because besides our low numbers, I can’t think of anything other than _you.”_

“Fuck you,” Brent hisses, teeth bared. “You know perfectly well I’m talking about the floater that manipulated his way into us.”

“His name is Patrick,” Ryan retorts at the same time as Pete reacts.

“I thought I told you,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you _dare_ slur Patrick again. I remember this conversation. Do you?”

“Sire,” Brent begins, voice holding zero ounces of respect. “He’s trying to find a moment to steal energy from us. It’s what they want to _do_ and now we have _two_ of them. Don’t tell me you’re blind to the fact that magics are naturally manipulative just because he’s good in bed.”

“The next word out of your mouth will be your _last,_ ” Pete growls, in a voice Patrick’s never quite heard before. “I’d consider that deeply before speaking again.”

There is no noise from either of them, no movement at all besides Ryan’s foot on the pedal. Pete’s _shaking,_ the anger palpable like nothing Patrick’s experienced with vampires before, and he squints to see Brent leaning as far away as possible, head turned down.

Fuck.

That’s the voice Patrick’s heard about, the tone that Sires use to make any other non-Sire vampire still and silent. The threatening voice, the commanding voice.

Patrick’s never heard Pete use it before, and now he’s used it because of what Brent said. About _Patrick._

“You are never to speak like that again,” Pete’s voice has the same tone, and he’s tense. “You are never to use a single slur again. You are never to argue with, threaten, condescend to, or harass Patrick. Ever. Again. If you do, I will poison you and leave you for dead.”

Brent is silent.

“Do you understand what I just said?” Pete hisses lowly. “Or do I need to use smaller words?”

“No, Sire,” Brent mutters. “I understand, Sire.”

“Again.”

 _“Yes,_ Sire,” Brent says louder. “I understand, Sire.”

“Good,” Pete spits. “Now turn around and shut up. I don’t want to hear so much as a sneeze from you.”

Brent goes silent again and Patrick can only assume he’d obeyed.

Pete smoothes his hand down Patrick’s side and kisses his forehead softly.

Patrick tries again to sleep.

\--

Patrick wakes again around one am. It’s quiet, almost silent other than the sound of the wheels on the road. They’re headed east, Patrick can feel it.

Pete’s hand it still entwined in his and his arm is draped over Patrick’s back. It calms Patrick down significantly-the memory of the Sangsue _so fucking close_ is still latched onto him, but Pete being here chases it away for the moment. 

He glances around as best he can without moving his head. Brent is still in the front seat, staring out the window as Ryan drives. He can feel Andy’s magic, stronger now that he’s resting, and he’s reassured that Joe is in the back with him. 

He turns his face into Pete’s side, allowing himself to nuzzle in close and hold on for the moment. Pete’s strong beside him, confident, and Patrick is _safe._

“Hey,” Pete’s voice is quiet. “Hey, Trick.”

Patrick takes a deep breath and lifts his head up to meet Pete’s eyes. 

“Hi,” he whispers back, and Pete kisses him, soft and sweet and not hidden at all. 

“You’re ok,” Pete whispers, his face neutral but his voice almost breaking. He runs his hands down Patrick’s body, physically reassuring himself that Patrick is whole, and Patrick leans forward, meeting Pete’s lips again. 

“Where are we going?” Patrick asks quietly when they break apart. Pete shakes his head.

“As far east as we can go before the sun comes up,” he sighs. “We’re eventually going to try and head west, but making it there is dangerous.”

Patrick nods, rubbing his neck. 

“Is Andy ok?” he asks, though he knows that physically, Andy is well. Pete shrugs, the motion looking elegant on him. 

“He woke up before you, panicking,” Pete explains. “That’s why we switched drivers. Happily, I may add. Andy needed Joe. He seems better now, but I really don’t know.”

Patrick glances over the seat, but both Joe and Andy are just lumps under a blanket. 

Pete’s not looking at him when Patrick turns back around, instead glaring daggers at the seat Brent is occupying. Patrick huffs in amusement before gently reaching out and turning Pete back to face him, watching the furious gaze immediately soften.

How had Patrick believed himself when he said Pete didn’t and wouldn’t ever love him?

“And you?” Patrick whispers, pressing his lips to Pete’s cheek. “How are you?”

Pete is quiet for a moment, arms tight around Patrick’s torso.

“I’m always alright when you’re safe with me,” Pete says simply, and Patrick kisses him fiercely, Brent in the front seat be _damned._

“I promised you,” Pete murmurs. “I swore you’d never be hurt again. I’m going to keep that promise if it kills me. No Sangsue, no wolf, no vampire, no anything will lay their hands on you to hurt you. No one.”

“I know,” Patrick tells him, because he _does._ “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Pete replies. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

Patrick smiles, small and private, and leans against Pete again to wait out the remainder of the drive.

\--

They’d been in Albany for an unprecedented month before they run out of blood completely. 

Well. Not completely. But Pete is not at all pleased with the mere hint that anyone feed off Patrick. 

_(Pete stared at a map and circled several locations before looking Brent and Ryan dead in the eye._

_“I am going to find us blood,” he had told them, voice harsh. “I am taking Joe, Andy, and Patrick with me. You two are to stay put. Do not go anywhere. Do not allow anyone in. If you do either of those things, you can starve. Understood?”_

_“Yes, Sire,” Ryan had replied dutifully._

_“Brent?” Pete had snapped, and Brent sighed._

_“Yes, Sire,” he had said, considerably less enthused._

_“Good,” Pete had said simply, before grabbing Patrick’s hand and herding him outside.)_

They’ve been out for hours, heading to blood bank after blood bank, stockpiling more blood than they’d ever had before. Pete piles all of it neatly into the back of the van, throwing a blanket over it, and talking in a low voice to Joe.

Patrick can’t pick out what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t really register, because his skin is _vibrating,_ and he thinks he might be glowing.

“Patrick?” Andy whispers. “Patrick, oh my god!”

“Is it-” Patrick asks numbly, and Andy gapes. 

“I think so,” he answers, eyes wide. “You actually have a _charge._ Where are they?”

Patrick concentrates, pushes down the overwhelming fear, and follows the pull of his magic almost blindly, lets his magic lead him to - to his _charge._

He’d never expected this to happen. He never thought he’d ever be powerful enough to be assigned someone to look after. 

Ever.

He follows his magic around the corner and into an alley, next to the seediest club Patrick has ever seen. He furrows his brow, straining to see in the dim light.

His magic sparks in recognition as a small kid comes into view, leaning against the wall with a sweet smile. Patrick takes a step toward him without thinking, but jerks back as three vampires climb the wall, faster than he could breathe.

They throw themselves at the kid, ignoring his screams, and sink their teeth into him, over and over, until all Patrick can see is _blood._

His magic surges and surges because this kid is Patrick’s _charge_ and he’s going to _die_ and Patrick can only think of one solution in the heat of the moment. 

He closes his eyes.

He screams.

_“Pete! Help!”_

**Author's Note:**

> my home is smalltalktorture.tumblr.com


End file.
